


Company

by ravenousgrue



Category: The Terror (2018 TV series), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Blow Job, Definitely No Sodomites Here Lads, M/M, cum, drunk, drunk blow job, power play blow job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenousgrue/pseuds/ravenousgrue
Summary: Cornelius Hickey blows Captain Crozier.





	Company

"I'm still in, Mister Hickey."

 

Cornelius, what he was going by these days, froze, the whites of his eyes bright in the darkness of the captain's cabin. He could move about the ship as easy as he pleased, like a ghost among these dull sailors who guzzled their grog and nestled into their hammocks without a fuss every night. Incurious and trusting, this lot, save  _ one _ .

 

He'd not been caught before and cursed himself, cursed the way his heart pounded in his chest, a jackrabbit in a trap. He'd be flogged. Court martialed, maybe.

 

Captain Crozier was staring at him blearily, and once his initial shock of being caught had slackened, he noticed a glint of cut crystal in the captain's pale hand.

 

He was in his cups. Deep in them, the way the hand weaved a bit before he brought the edge of it to his lips and finished what was left. The captain was so drunk that he was doing nothing about catching an interloper besides watching him.

 

"Aye, sir," Cornelius dared, his teeth showing extra white in the gloom when he smiled, "Thought you might want company."

 

Crozier snorted derisively at him and tried to take another drink from his empty glass, cursing when he did nothing but click it against his teeth. Cornelius crept a few paces closer. He ought to leave, was what he ought to do, and leave the captain to wonder when he woke up if he'd simply  _ dreamed  _ of the caulker's mate skulking about his cabin when it was light's out, when he had no business being there at all.

 

"Shall I pour you another?" Cornelius wondered. He was close enough now to smell the reek of whiskey that hung in a miasma about the captain, close enough to see the slouched angle that he leaned, too drunk to even sit upright. The captain closed one of his eyes to focus on him, and even in his stupor, there was a sharpness there that Cornelius enjoyed, "Sir?"

 

"Go on, then," the captain growled, his voice thick and hoarse as he held out his glass.

 

Cornelius steadied the captain's hand with one of his, looking into his face as he poured with the other.

 

"Why not just drink out of the bottle?" Cornelius asked him, keeping hold of his hand. Captain Crozier made no attempt to retrieve it just yet, the closeness of his caulker's mate holding his attention, "More efficient, I reckon."

 

"Not very civilized, though, is it?" Crozier said, a wet gurgle of a chuckle rasping in his throat, "What are you doing in here, Mister Hickey?"

 

Cornelius felt himself go a bit cold, reminded that though he was drunk, he could name him in the dark all the same. Would he remember, too? Even though Cornelius had hold of his hand, it felt the other way around, the grasp charged, magnetized somehow. It was an unexpected thrill, to not know if he'd be whipped or hung by the time this moment had passed.

 

"Thought you might want company, sir," Cornelius repeated, his lips pulling sideways in a sly weasel's smirk. Francis, in the dark, mirrored it, and it looked almost as devious on his face.

 

"Thought you might paw around for things to gossip about with the men, more like," the captain ought to have been furious, but he seemed more entertained than anything. He'd caught him before he could get into any real mischief, after all, so there'd been no real harm done.

 

"Maybe," Cornelius dared. The captain snorted, dismissive, and tried to pull his hand out of Cornelius's grip, to take another drink. He ought to let him, ought to help him drink until he blacked out and doubted his own memory. Instead, Cornelius held fast, causing some of the whiskey to slosh over the rim of the fine crystal glass. Crozier grunted in confusion and dismay, his gaze almost childishly petulant as he looked back into Cornelius's face, "Maybe I really  _ did  _ think you'd want some company. Awfully lonely, drinking in the dark."

 

Though there was still suspicion in the old drunk's gaze, Cornelius saw something soft and  _ vulnerable  _ too. He pulled at his glass again and Cornelius let him have it this time, though now there was reluctance before he drank.

 

_ Shame _ .

 

Cornelius sank down to his knees before the captain like he meant to pray and the captain looked away from him, drinking half of what he poured in one go. Cornelius slid his hands up Crozier's thighs, marveling at how much finer the cloth was than his own uniform. Not until his hands found the hem -- and his eyes did not leave the captain's face, not for one moment -- did the captain react, finishing his drink very suddenly and grabbing Hickey's wrists.

 

The heavy glass’s thump was muffled when it hit the fine rug on the floor, and they both watched it roll along the incline of the floor, coming to rest near the seat of ease Hickey had not long ago sealed against a draft.

 

"I'm  _ not  _ a bloody  _ sodomite _ ," the Irish brogue the captain fought so hard to ( _ unsuccessfully _ ) bury in his day to day was in full bloom now, his voice a hoarse, scratchy growl.

 

"Me neither, sir," Cornelius said, sliding his hands out of the captain's grip easily, pushing them aside, "That's against the law. God's law and the laws of men. Strictly speaking," he palmed the captain's cock through his finely tailored trousers, making him hiss like Cornelius had pressed a hot coal to his bare flesh, "Nobody's getting buggered in the arse just  _ now _ , are they?"

 

His breathing was heavy now, Captain Francis Crozier of  _ H.M.S. The Terror, _ and Cornelius free his half-hard cock from his trousers easy as you please. It was Cornelius on his knees, but it was the captain at his mercy. At his  _ pleasure _ . The captain was breathing heavily, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that the timber creaked and his already pale knuckles were bone white.

 

"Been awhile now, has it, sir?" Cornelius goaded him even as he spit in his own hand, seeing if he couldn't stroke Crozier to full attention. For a man as drunk as he clearly was, it was a miracle he could get his cock up at all.

 

"Do something more useful with your mouth, Mister Hickey, before I change my mind," the captain's growled threat was toothless and they  _ both  _ knew it. Cornelius took the captain's mostly-hard cock into his mouth and savored the strangled groan doing so got him. Crozier lit a hand on his head, and though he did  _ try  _ to look away, Cornelius wouldn't let him, forcing his blurry gaze to stay put with one that was sharp and clear-eyed. Forcing him to  _ look _ , forcing him to remember  _ enough  _ that he'd make a  _ point  _ to drink enough to  _ forget  _ after Cornelius left, unharmed and unpunished, to return to his hammock.

 

The captain squirmed as Cornelius saw to him, his fine boots scuffing against the canted boards as he did his best to muffle the wanton sounds he was practically  _ choking  _ on. There wasn't much by way of privacy on a ship. The other officers were quartered very close by, and though some were on watch, some others were in their cabins reading. Maybe they hadn't heard Mister Hickey, but they'd hear their sullen, silent captain kicking up a ruckus without question.

 

If they saw him, it'd be Captain Crozier who'd be whipped or court martialed, and the poor Caulker's Mate was simply led astray by an older, more powerful man. He'd say he'd been ordered too, that he'd feared for his life. Cornelius opened his throat and took the whole of Crozier, imagining the stupid look on Sir John's face as he heard what his second had been up to _. A drunk and a sodomite, _ he could hear it easily in posh dullard's voice, and he could see on the tortured captain's face that he could hear it too,  _ How could you, Francis? _

 

"God damn you," Crozier wheezed, making a cruel fist in Cornelius's hair, "God damn you, you little  _ bastard _ ."

  
  


To discourage his rude insults as much as it was to discourage him raising his voice and attracting attention, Cornelius sank his teeth into the base of the captain's cock enough to arrest his attention, making his entire body go rigid, his eyes flying wide, his adam's apple bobbing madly as he fought with himself not to cry out. He couldn't say how long they were like that, Cornelius with the captain's (still-hard, the dirty old bugger) cock deep in his throat, his teeth clamped down, the captain's fist pulling painfully on his hair. Sobered him up right quick, Cornelius bet, and slowly,  _ slowly _ , his grip relaxed. It was reluctant, he could see, because if he  _ did  _ release, what was there to stop Cornelius from biting his pale worm of a cock off? He'd already proved himself mad to be on his knees before the mast as it was, so what did  _ he  _ care if he unmanned an officer?

 

When his hand was more polite, resting limply,  _ impotently  _ on Cornelius's shoulder, he resumed. The captain's cock was clean, at least, and it didn't take long to make him come. Cornelius held the meagre offering in his mouth until the captain was able to look at him, and when it seemed like he might smile, he spat it in the other man's face.

 

Crozier made a lumbering grab at him and Cornelius lept away. The lunge sent his chair clattering and there was activity on the other side of the door. Cornelius dove behind a bookshelf, able to make himself thin enough not to be seen so long as the man who stuck his head in didn't fully enter the room. He watched as the captain hastily stuffed his cock in his pants and wiped at his face with a silk kerchief. Probably had his initials embroidered on it.

 

"Everything all right, Captain?"

 

"Fine. It's fine. Get out."

 

"Aye, sir."

 

Crozier said nothing for a few minutes, catching his breath one moment, clumsily righting his chair and fetching his glass up off the floor the next.

 

"Get out, Mister Hickey."

 

"One good turn deserves another, Captain," Cornelius grinned at him, savoring the sullen stare the captain gave him as he poured himself a glass of whiskey so full it threatened to slop over the sides, "You owe me, now. That's only polite.  _ Civilized _ ."

 

" _ Fuck off _ ."

 

Cornelius followed his orders, confident that he'd hear no more of it. Confident that the captain would obliterate it from his mind, and if he didn't, he wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, anyhow. He was already a drunk Irishman, after all. He could only be forgiven for so much.

 


End file.
